Although the wind shook the trees, its force eased overnight so the pegs of my tent were undisturbed. Indeed, it had advantages as despite waking to rain drops at one point in the night, the breeze had dried my tent by the time I packed up this morning.
My accommodation for tonight is at an Inn which closed after lunchtime, so I was keen to make an early start. Leaving my camping spot at 6:00 am, well before any light was in the winter sky, I made my way eastwards, patches of stars visible in the moonless sky. Initially I slithered on a muddy path through trees, glad of my trekking poles for support, later I crossed an open hillside of grass. As I approached its summit the first pink light of dawn was appearing above the distant horizon making a silhouette of the trees on the brow of the hill. Looking down into the valley beyond, spots of lights gathered to outline the nearby town of Beaminster. The lights of other, more distance towns, were visible in the blackness to the south. Helped by the light that precedes the rising sun I found my way down the wet grass to enter Beaminster. Its centre looked attractive with a square surrounded by small shops including an open Coop where I purchased supplies, including pastries for breakfast which I ate on a bench watching the handful of people who came and went.
As I climbed out of the town, the round white sun itself was rising over the hillside. The route took me up an unmetalled road, so old it had sunk into the hillside as a result of centuries of traffic going up and down. I climbed a few such tracks today, their sides green with ferns and ivy climbing the leafless trees. Mud made some unpleasant but in others, water had flowed down these roadways, clearing the mud and leaving pebbles of flint. Occasionally erosion had penetrated deeper, reached the bedrock, washing clean the white chalk in deeper groves.
Not all tracks were so pleasant, one across high ground was not only muddy, there were large pools of water. One proved particularly difficult to walk around as the track was bounded by a thick and brambly hedge on one side and barbed wire on the other. Water rose over the top of my boots and I swore as it trickled down my socks. Nevertheless the views were expansive across the surrounding downs, especially attractive when the low morning sun picked out the folds of the landscape, warming the greens, turning trees from black to brown and highlighting the sheep as they stared towards me. A few sections of woodland made a pleasant change from wet fields but would look much better with spring flowers.
In a few valleys there were duck ponds by posh looking houses. Today as well as yesterday, "Private" notices jostled with public footpath signs. A group of motor cyclists drove by me on a rough track, out enjoying a Sunday run, their noise intruding into the peace of the countryside. I passed through a number of small settlements and admired their houses, invariably old. Some were built of a pleasant, rough, yellow stone, sometimes mixed with sections of a whiter stone, cut with a smooth surface into rectangular blocks. There were also old brick houses and at Maiden Newton the use of flint as a building material started, often mixed with courses of red brick. Maiden Newton not only had interesting buildings but also an open village shop, a closed coffee shop and a shop at the Petrol station where I bought a tuna and cucumber roll (chosen as it was the only offering with fruit or vegetable in it) and a coffee.
Then after some walking on a very straight single track road and a very muddy track I reached Sydling St Nicholas. I checked into the Greyhound Inn and after inadvertently depositing mud with my clothes on the carpet of my room, I quickly washed my hands and headed for the bar for a very late Sunday lunch (or as I saw it, an early diner). They kindly kept the kitchens open long enough for me to enjoy a traditional dish of roast beef, roast potatoes and vegetables. Only later did I wonder what had happened to the Yorkshire pudding.
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